In a collective sport like football, the Ballon d’Or has for decades been the ultimate symbol of individual recognition: personal merit, talent, collective titles, brilliance, consistency. But in recent years that idea has been burdened with an almost absolute social demand: being number one. Coming second, third… stops being seen by many as a historic medal and instead becomes almost a failure, a “not having made it.” The result is growing tension—not only sporting, but also emotional, media-driven, and moral—as can be seen in the striking case of Lamine Yamal, runner-up to Ousmane Dembélé. Something similar also happened last year with Vinícius Junior, and further back with Cristiano Ronaldo.

At the 2025 Ballon d’Or gala, 18-year-old Lamine Yamal received the Silver Ball. Some celebrated it: second best player in the world at such a young age and once again winner of the Kopa Trophy for best under-21 player. Something unique, though others saw it as a defeat, starting with his father, Mounir Nasraoui, who the next day lashed out in the media and on social networks: “It is the greatest moral damage to a human being. Lamine Yamal is the best player in the world by far… Not because he is my son, but because he is. There are no rivals,” and “something very strange has happened here.” It is the anti-inspirational discourse.

Second, far from failing

It is not the first time someone finishes second and is treated as if their sporting life depended on having won. In 2024, Vinícius Junior, after a spectacular season, finished runner-up and suffered harsh mockery from fans and media. That pressure, that scrutiny, now seems to be part of the script when you are not the chosen one for first place. His club, Real Madrid, even decided not to attend that gala—and repeated the boycott this year—as a protest against what they considered a strange outcome, given that they had always been led to believe that the white “7” would receive the top award. But what happens if he ends up second?

How the Ballon d’Or is decided

To understand part of the controversy, it is worth recalling how the voting works:

• Organized by ‘France Football’, co-organized with UEFA since 2024.

• The evaluation period covers the football season (from August to July of the following year).

• The official criteria are: individual performance, collective achievements (club and national team), and ‘fair play’ in behavior.

• Hundreds of specialized journalists from around the world participate, each making their ranking of players and awarding points (first place, second, etc.). The player with the most points wins. In case of a tie, the number of first-place votes decides, then second-place votes, and so on.

The problem of the “first place” obsession

There is a broader cultural background here: we live in a society that, in many areas, demands being number one. At work, in academics, in sport, on social media… That mindset makes second place socially perceived as a “first loser.” But since when has being second-best in the world at something been bad?

While Olympic bodies, international federations and sports organizations emphasize team values, solidarity, shared sacrifice, and coexistence, the Ballon d’Or seems tainted by ego, false spectacle, and disconnection from collective reality. Because football is collective: teams play, clubs, leagues, national sides—but the award is individual, and that makes it more fragile in interpretation.

One happy, the rest upset

In the end, the Ballon d’Or should be a reason for celebration: a unique recognition, a moment to honor individual effort within the collective context. But what now seems more frequent is that it generates division, criticism, embarrassment for those who do not win, and even anger toward those who deserve recognition.

Perhaps what is wrong is not the award, nor its organization, nor even its voting system, but rather the exaggerated importance society places on it. The Ballon d’Or should not be a mirror of collective ego, but a showcase of excellence, merit, and the sport we share.